


The Decent Thing

by mistyzeo



Series: Only Decent [2]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Sherlock (TV) RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, M/M, Multi, OT3, Oral Sex, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 15:13:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8849887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyzeo/pseuds/mistyzeo
Summary: There's a limousine waiting at the kerb, and Amanda is standing there with the door open. "In you get," she says, beaming at him.Benedict gets in amid a flurry of camera flashes. What will they say, when they see him leaving with the two of them? Can they know? How can they possibly not know? He doesn't care. That's a lie.





	

**Author's Note:**

>   
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> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Thanks to B for the beta!

Benedict has two hours to recover from the incident in the ladies' room. The rest of the party goes shockingly well. After an orgasm, everything feels fantastic. The champagne tastes amazing. The conversation is stimulating. Everyone who expresses admiration for a job well done gets heartfelt gratitude in return. He knows he is blushing, but he doesn't mind, not a bit. His mum's not going to see him and know, for God's sake, what Martin and Amanda just __did__ to him. It's all fine. It's great, even.

Midnight rolls around, and Martin sneaks up behind him.

"We're going to go," he says in Ben's ear. "Are you coming?"

"Yes," Benedict says, half-turning to look at him over his shoulder. Martin smiles and scrunches his face in a near-wink of approval. "Let me just get my coat."

There's a limousine waiting at the kerb, and Amanda is standing there with the door open. "In you get," she says, beaming at him.

Benedict gets in amid a flurry of camera flashes. What will they say, when they see him leaving with the two of them? Can they know? How can they possibly __not__ know? He doesn't care. That's a lie.

Martin slides in across from him, and Amanda shuts the door behind herself. The car moves smoothly away from the venue. Benedict's getting the urge to fidget. He takes out his phone and checks his received messages, his email: nothing. A rustle of fabric makes him look up again.

Martin is kissing Amanda, pressing his lips to her exposed throat and murmuring something to her. She smiles, her eyes darting Benedict's direction. Her smile widens. She quirks an eyebrow at him.

Benedict's face heats. He swallows, with effort, and glances away. London spins past beyond the window, rows of lights and miles of pavement and thousands of bricks. There is a knot where his stomach should be, and the low sound of Martin's laugh makes it tighten.

Then there are hands on his knees, and Amanda has pushed her way past Martin to kneel on the floor between Benedict's legs. He stares at her, blinking, the reason for his presence in this car almost entirely forgotten. What is he _doing?_ This is a colossal mistake.

"You having second thoughts?" Amanda asks gently.

Ben shakes his head, and then nods.

"Can I try and convince you?" she asks.

This time he just nods.

"Martin," Amanda says, "where are your manners?"

Martin shifts to sit beside Benedict rather than across from him, and slides a hand down the length of Ben's thigh. The touch sends a bolt of heat through him, and Benedict finds himself parting his legs to give Amanda a little more room.

She reaches up and takes his face in her hands. Her hands are warm, about the same size as Martin's—though the pads of her fingers are softer, and she smells like Chanel and rum and a bit like grilled shrimp. The thought makes Ben smile, and she kisses him.

This kiss is gentler than the kiss they shared in the ladies' toilet, and Benedict lets himself be seduced by it. Beside him, Martin is watching keenly; Ben can practically feel his gaze on the play of their lips. Martin’s hand on his thigh is kneading gently, his thumb pressed into the seam of Ben’s trousers, his fingers millimeters from where they were earlier tonight. The sense-memory of that makes Benedict’s cock twitch and start to fill.

Amanda tilts his head with her fingertips, angling him in order to deepen the kiss, and he finds himself reaching for her. Her dress under his hands is smooth and warmed by her skin, and he lets instinct take over. Her breasts are round and full, heavy in his palms, and she makes a noise into his mouth when he rubs his thumbs over both her nipples at once. In a few seconds her nipples are stiff points under the fabric of her bodice, and she’s shivering, pressing herself into his hands. Benedict squeezes her roughly and she moans.

Breaking the kiss, she pulls back to look him in the eye, and at his half-smile of encouragement she offers him her neck. He leans in, drawn by the column of her throat, and begins to kiss her. Martin’s lips were here, he thinks. Martin did this.

Martin’s hand shifts off his thigh to the small of his back, steadying him, encouraging him. Over Ben’s head, Amanda must be making faces or something because Martin laughs and leans in to whisper, “Bite her,” in his ear.

Benedict obeys, and Amanda groans throatily, her arms around his shoulders tightening. Martin kisses Benedict on the ear and leans back again, giving them room.

Amanda pulls herself out of Ben’s embrace and leans back on the seat across from him. She spreads her legs on either side of his knees and hitches up her skirt. He goes to his knees on the floor of the limo and slides his hands up the outsides of her thighs, pushing her skirt up higher. He leans in to kiss her again.

Her kiss is hungry, biting, and he grips one breast hard to hear her moan. Then she pushes him away with a hand on his sternum.

“Let’s put that lovely mouth to work,” she says.

Benedict nearly passes out from the rush of blood away from his brain. “Yes, all right,” he says, trying to sound cavalier, but it must not work because she and Martin both laugh.

Behind him, Martin shifts his seat again, situating himself behind Benedict, across from Amanda. There’s barely enough room between them, with Martin’s thighs bracketing Ben’s back, but the confinement feels safe, deliberate, and calculated. He relaxes into it, sitting back on his heels and returning his hands to the tops of her thighs.

Her stockings end mid-thigh, held up by lace elastic and magic, apparently, and above them Amanda’s skin is warm and pale and soft. Benedict can smell her, Jesus, the rich, warm, secret scent of her that makes his dick hard in an instant. He lets out a shaky breath and dips his head. Just above the top of her stockings, where the elastic bit into her skin, her flesh is reddened and tender, and when he brushes his lips across the mark she gasps. She puts her feet up on the seat behind him, and Martin’s presence forces her legs even wider. Benedict runs his tongue along the welt, feeling Amanda tremble, relishing the power in so small a gesture.

Martin’s hands settle on his spine, rubbing slowly up and down the length of his back. He has an excellent view, Ben thinks. He wonders what he looks like, with his face between his friend’s wife’s legs. His prick jerks in his trousers, already leaking.

Amanda is wet again too, or perhaps she’s still wet, or wet from before. Her scent is stronger, and when he drags his tongue up the inside of her thigh he can taste the bittersweet and salt on her skin. Her pants don’t completely cover her pubic hair, and the curls are crinkly and coarse against Ben’s cheek.

He pulls away, swallowing the rush of saliva that fills his mouth, and slips his fingers under the elastic of her pants. She braces her feet on the seat, lifting her arse, and lets him pull them down her legs and off, one foot at a time. Ben hands her pants to Martin, who mutters, “Cheeky,” and tucks them in his jacket pocket.

Now she’s bare to him, and he can see the gleam of wetness between her legs and the rosy pink of her labia. He’s panting, sweat running down his spine, his cock like iron in his trousers, like he hasn’t come in days. Like he didn’t just blow his load down Martin’s throat three hours ago. He can feel his own pulse between his legs, throbbing.

He wets his lips and lowers himself again, curling his long body into the space between Amanda’s thighs and Martin’s guiding hands. He parts the lips of her vulva with his fingertips and she gasps.

“Chilly,” she says, when he hesitates.

“Sorry.”

“Here,” she says, and takes his hands in hers. She curls her fingers around his knuckles and sucks his fingers into her warm mouth.

“Fuck,” he spits out, rocked to the core by the sensation. She’s not sucking his prick, but she might as well be. He wants to grind against something, push his cock against the warm curve of a body, rub off in his trousers, _something_.

“Ah ah,” Martin says, stilling his hips. “Easy.”

Benedict moans, and Amanda lets his hands go. He needs to be inside her, even if it’s just with the tip of his tongue. He slips wet, warmed fingers into her cunt and opens her up, exposing the wet gleam of her inner labia, the swollen bud of her clitoris still half-hidden by its hood.

She sighs when his lips touch her, and he swallows a moan. She's slippery and hot, and he gathers her juices on his tongue before he licks her clit, slowly, softly, gauging her sensitivity. She pushes a hand into his hair and rocks her hips up against his face.

His lips are already wet, but now his chin is too, and he opens his mouth wider against her cunt, licking at her labia and between them, sliding his tongue into her body. He can hear her moaning, and behind him Martin's breathing is rapid and shallow. The pressure of Martin's hands is steady on the curve of his ribs, but Ben needs more.

He wrestles himself out of his jacket without removing his tongue from its flickering dance across Amanda's clitoris, and Martin takes it from him without needing to be asked. Then Martin's fingers are on the collar of his shirt, unbuttoning it, loosening his tie. Benedict presses his face deeper between Amanda's thighs, devouring her, breathing her in, and she shakes and moans. Martin slips Ben's tie out from under his collar, and Benedict loses that tie forever.

He has more important things to think about: the pressure of Amanda's hand on his head, the heat of Martin's body against his back, the flex of muscles in Amanda's legs, belly, hips; the ridge of Martin's cock against Ben's lower back. Martin kisses his shoulder through his shirt, digs his teeth in, and begins to rub himself against Benedict, rocking slowly. All the muscles in Ben's pelvis clench, and he hears himself groan. A wet spot is forming on his pants where he's leaking, and he can feel it starting to stick.

"She tastes good, right?" Martin whispers in his ear.

Ben has to close his eyes. The smell of Amanda fills his nose, but at the edges of his perception he can smell Martin too: his aftershave, the warmth of his body, his shampoo. It's a familiar smell, and Benedict clings to it even as he works his tongue against Amanda's clit. She's whimpering almost non-stop now, every exhale carrying with it unconscious, half-formed curses and appeals to God.

"You look fucking gorgeous doing that," Martin goes on. He presses a kiss to Benedict's temple and his lips linger for a moment. "She's loving it," he says. "Fucking gagging for it. She'd love your cock, Ben. Do you want to give it to her?"

Benedict makes a noise he can't control, and he feels Martin laugh against the nape of his neck.

"Can you make her come before we get home?" Martin asks, low and rough. "You've got about five minutes."

Five minutes. Jesus. Benedict can work with five minutes. He moves his hands, spreading one palm on the slope of Amanda's belly and sliding the other between her legs, beneath his chin. He stops licking her to catch his breath, which earns him a curse and a moan, and then slips two fingers into Amanda's cunt as he applies his tongue to her once more.

Martin makes a noise of approval that is little more than a rumble, but it goes through Benedict like an earthquake. Amanda is slick, dripping down the back of his hand, and two fingers against the tender wall of her vagina makes her shake and cry out. He rubs her spot inside, swollen as it is with her arousal, and her hands clench hard in his hair as she starts to come.

Benedict holds on, sucking hard and working his fingers inside her, until she's arching and shuddering with each spasm of her orgasm. She pushes him away, gasping for breath, and Martin turns Ben's head to the side. Ben's chin is wet, his cheeks are wet, his fingers and palm are soaked; he opens his mouth to Martin's ravenous kiss.

 

The driver drops them at the rear of the house, and Martin takes Benedict’s hand as they step out. Amanda pauses at the window to pass the poor man a massive tip, and then they’re heading up the porch to the kitchen door. Benedict is quivering with satisfaction unfulfilled, his cock rigid in his trousers and ruining the line, but there isn't anyone to see him in this state. He holds his jacket in front of him all the same. His collar he leaves undone.

The nanny is on the sofa, turning off the television as they enter through the kitchen. She’s mid-twenties, pretty, not wearing make-up, her hair in a loose ponytail.

“How were they?” Amanda asks.

“Great, they were great,” the nanny says. She flashes Ben a quick smile, clearly recognizing him but too polite to mention it.

“Thanks again,” Martin says, “I know it was short notice…”

“It’s fine,” she says, “I hope you all had a lovely time. I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

And then she’s pulling on her coat and vanishing down the back stairs, and Martin locks the door behind her as Amanda slips away to check on the kids.

“Drink?” Martin offers, shucking his jacket and laying it over the back of a chair, as though Benedict’s presence is completely innocent. Ben can still taste Amanda on his lips, still feel her hands in his hair.

“No,” he says, “thanks.”

Martin’s smile crinkles his eyes. He steps close to Ben again and runs a soothing hand down the length of Ben's spine. "Doing all right?"

"Yeah, fine," Ben says, feeling like he's about to come out of his skin. Martin’s hand is warm through the fabric of his shirt, and it settles possessively on the small of his back.

Benedict has been to Martin and Amanda’s place before, sat on the sofa and had a drink, even played with the kids a bit on the rug. He knows the layout of their kitchen, their ugly seventies chairs, what it feels like to stub his toe on the brick of their fireplace hearth. The dogs are milling about on the lino, disturbed from their evening naps and excited by the return of their ridiculous caretakers. They each give Benedict’s trouser hems a sniff, identifying him, and go back to waiting hopefully by the food bowls on the floor.

Amanda returns, her shoes dangling from one hand. “Sound asleep. Did you offer him a drink?”

“Course I bloody did,” Martin says. “He said no.”

She smiles at Benedict and waves him through the living room to the hall. Their bedroom is at the opposite end of the house from the kids', and is dominated by the brass four-poster bed. The rest of Amanda's shoe collection lives in a scattered line along one wall, while on Martin's side the bookcase is crammed full of records. Benedict tastes their domesticity at the back of his throat: shampoo and laundry and week-old bed linens.

Amanda closes the door. Martin's fingers find Benedict's top shirt buttons. Benedict stands still as Martin unfastens them, one by one, the barely-there brush of contact with his T-shirt making him shiver. His nipples tighten in anticipation. Martin untucks Benedict's shirts, and for the second time that night he unfastens Ben's trousers for him. His head is at the level of Benedict's chin, his silvery gray hairs visible in the light among the dishwater blond.

Behind him, Amanda kicks off her shoes and takes Ben's shirt from his shoulders. She drapes it over the bed post and nudges his shoulder. He turns to face her, and she turns her back.

"Unzip me."

Benedict obeys, drawing the zipper down Amanda's spine, parting her dress to the top of her backside. The dimples on either side of her spine make his jaw cramp with want. She steps out of the dress and goes to hang it up, in her bra and stockings. Her pants are still in Martin's jacket pocket. Her arse is round and plump and biteable. Martin slips his hands under the back of Ben's T-shirt and says, "'S nice, right?" Benedict nods.

Amanda throws a glance over her shoulder and winks at them, wiggling her bum. She hangs the dress up and turns around again. "Lads," she says, reaching behind herself to unhook her bra, "I'm leaving you in the dust."

"Well, you're not wearing much in the first place," Martin protests, but Ben feels him unbuttoning his own shirt and discarding it. He hears the jingle of Martin's belt as it hits the floor. He fumbles to catch up, pushing his trousers down, and Martin's hands slide around his hips, on top of his briefs. His cock twitches, pushing against the fabric; Martin's blunt fingers find the wet spot and Ben's knees wobble.

"Steady on," Amanda says, coming up and pressing her breasts against his chest, which is the opposite of helpful. She wraps her arms around his waist and gives Martin's biceps a squeeze. They're both shorter than him by a head, but between them he feels almost cradled, protected. Martin rubs his cock head through his pants, getting the fabric wetter, sending jolts of sensation down Benedict's legs. His breath shudders out of him, and he finds himself clinging to Amanda's arms.

Martin lets go, manages to squeeze one of Amanda's tits as he gets his hand out, and Benedict's back is suddenly cold with his absence. He looks over his shoulder to watch Martin climb onto the bed, and then Amanda pecks a kiss onto his cheek and says, "Want to join him?"

"Yeah," Ben says, and "yeah," again. Martin pulls off his socks and throws them in the direction of their trousers. The tent in his pants is obvious, but doesn't appear to concern him. He reaches out a hand; Ben takes it, and lets himself be drawn onto the bed. Martin lays him out crossways and lies down beside him, on one elbow, gazing down into his face. It's a strange angle to see Martin at, but Ben is warm and his heart is beating fast and he's okay. He's okay. Amanda slides in on the other side, mirroring Martin, and braces her hand on Ben's chest to lean over and kiss her partner. Ben watches in fascination as they kiss, slow and familiar, Martin's tongue moving in Amanda's mouth until she nips him and returns the favour, licking her way between his teeth. Martin's hand cradles her face, her shoulder, her breast; he thumbs her nipple to make her moan, and her back arches, pushing her tits against Ben's arm. His hands are idle, on his belly, and he's doing his best not to touch himself.

Amanda does it for him, sliding her hand down to cover the ridge of his cock and rubbing, still kissing Martin. Her eyes are closed, but the noise Ben makes makes her smile. He pushes his hips up against her hand and she squeezes him harder. His mouth feels thick with saliva, and licking his lips doesn't help. He hears himself whimper, jealous, and Martin pulls away from the kiss to glance down at him. Benedict brings a hand up to touch his chin, and Martin's lips quirk in a smile. He bends down, still holding Amanda's breast in his hand, and kisses Benedict instead.

Benedict moans into Martin's mouth. Martin tastes a little sour, and Benedict knows it's been too long for him to still taste like Ben's come but he can't help but _imagine_ it. Martin kisses him hard and deep, like the first time, but more controlling. He's not teaching anymore, or testing, he's taking. Benedict is swept along, knowing now there's no one to see them, no one to stop them. He kisses back with enthusiasm, a little sloppy. Damn it, this is just so _unusual._

Amanda's hand on him is still moving slowly up and down his prick, rubbing the fabric of his pants against his skin. He wants them off. He wants his damn T-shirt off, too. He wants to be naked between them and let them do what they like.

He breaks the kiss with Martin to say this aloud, and they both laugh together, delighted, and then set to stripping him of his clothes. Soon he is naked, blissfully, and so are they. There's a lot of bare skin in the bed, more than Benedict is used to, but he's fond of all of it. Martin's cock bumps against his thigh.

"Can I, er—?" he asks, and sits up again Martin rolls onto his back, sliding a hand up his spine, and Benedict bends toward his groin. He hesitates at the last second, not exactly well-versed in the area of cocksucking, but Martin did a frankly shattering job on him, and it really can't be that hard. He knows what feels good and what definitely doesn't, and Martin won't be afraid to guide him when he needs it.

Martin smells heady and yeasty and salty, and when Benedict sticks his tongue out and licks him, he groans deep in his chest and his hand curls in Ben's hair. His curls are still _Sherlock_ -long, and Martin gets a good grip. The slightest tug on his follicles has Benedict shivering, his cock jerking, wetness spilling from the tip. He shifts, getting up on his hands and knees. He needs Martin's cock down his throat. He sucks on the tip, getting used to the girth and the taste, and then, incrementally, starts to take Martin deeper. His jaw stretches and aches. His tongue feels stuck against the bottom of his mouth. It's not about licking at all, but covering his teeth and just moving his head, giving Martin a wet, hot place to fuck.

Amanda is kissing his back and his shoulders, and at one point she falters. Benedict opens his eyes and can just see Martin's other hand between her thighs. Then he has to close them again to focus on the heavy press of Martin's fat prick. Martin is muttering, swearing under his breath, and his hand in Ben's hair is consciously gentle except when Benedict manages to really swallow him down, pushing his prick head against the resisting back of his throat, and then Martin groans loudly and his fist tightens. Benedict's cock, heavy and hard between his legs, jerks again. He's dripping on the duvet. Will they be upset? Probably not.

The pressure of Amanda's hands and mouth disappears, and she shifts to whisper something to Martin. He moans and says, "Oh, fuck, yeah, can you ask him?"

"Ben?" Amanda says, and Benedict pulls away. His lips are numb, his eyes watering. He clears his throat. Martin's hand slips out of his hair.

"Yeah?"

"You know how we said earlier that Martin wanted you to fuck him while he fucks me?"

Benedict had forgotten the details, really, but now he remembers her saying it.

"I was wondering," Amanda goes on, "if you wanted to fuck me while he fucks you, instead."

Ben considers it for a moment. He's had fingers up his arse before, and he knows he likes that. He figures the best cock to have would be Martin's, given how careful and skillful Martin's been so far. And he wouldn't turn down getting his dick in Amanda, either.

They're watching him deliberate. He shrugs one shoulder and says, "Yeah, all right," more casually than he feels.

Martin and Amanda grin and glance at one another. Martin's hand sneaks back into Ben's hair.

"She's going to get you ready," he says. "Carry on."

Benedict finds himself grinning, and he lowers his head once more.

Martin's prick fits more easily into his mouth this time, and he sucks him deep almost at once. He feels Amanda get off the bed, hears her rummaging in a drawer, and then she's back again, settling behind him. She nudges his legs apart and he spreads them willingly, sinking lower on the bed. His bollocks are exposed, heavy and full, and he doesn't even mind. He feels sexy this way, desirable and desirous, and Amanda's warm kiss to the curve of his bum is both soothing and exciting.

She dribbles lube down his crack and rubs it into his skin with her knuckles, getting him wet everywhere to start. Then she starts circling in, closing and closer, teasing him. He braces himself on Martin's belly and puts a hand between Martin's legs to fondle his balls. Martin draws one leg up to give him room, pushing up into his mouth. Amanda's thumb rubs his hole, the way Martin did earlier, just barely pressing inside. She's done this before.

Suddenly Ben understands her teasing Martin earlier, the way she'd made him blush. She's fucked Martin up the bum. He should have _known._ Of _course_ Martin would like that sort of thing, especially from his wife. Benedict has to pull off Martin's cock to laugh at himself, which makes both Amanda and Martin pause.

"I'm fine," he says, rubbing wet lips against the head of Martin's prick. "I'm good."

"I think that's a good stopping place," Martin says, giving Ben's hair a tug that almost makes Ben crumple. "God, look at that arse. I need to cool down." He sits up, pulling Ben upright to kiss him. Benedict can't balance, not with Amanda pressing her index finger into his arsehole, and he puts a hand down to steady himself. "Hang on a minute," Martin says, and lets him go.

Benedict goes back down on his elbows, arse up, hiding his face in his hands, as Martin shifts on the bed. Ben feels him kneel up beside Amanda and hears them murmur and kiss, and then he has two sets of hands on his back and hips.

Martin says, "Okay, Ben?" and Benedict nods. Martin's finger slides into his body beside Amanda's; the stretch makes his hips ache. He's had two fingers before, he's okay. Amanda adds more lube, thick and slippery, and Martin adds another finger.

"Take over," Amanda instructs, easing her finger out, and it's her turn to move around, shifting on the bed, nudging Benedict's arm. She puts a hand between his legs and rolls a condom onto his dripping prick. The touch sends sparks through him, and he moans into his hands.

"Budge up," she says, and he struggles upright. She wriggles in beneath him, legs spread on either side of his, and adjusts the pillows behind her. She circles his covered dick with a slippery hand, stroking him twice, and then rubs that same hand between her thighs. She winks at him, wipes her hand off on her own belly, and draws him down on top of her.

His prick slides between her thighs, rubbing against her lips, and she lifts her hips to tease him for a minute, grinding against him. Then she puts a hand between them again to move him into place, and he sinks into her wet heat, groaning. She's slick and tight and she moans when he presses forward, clutching at his shoulders.

"Oh, Martin," she groans, and Benedict is almost insulted except that he realises she is not addressing him. "He's so long, Martin," Amanda says. "Oh, god, he can get so deep." To Benedict she whispers, "Fuck me, darling."

He almost can't summon the coordination to move his hips, but Martin sinks a third finger into him, pushing him forward, and at once he needs to push back. The rhythm is easy then, rocking shallowly into Amanda and back on Martin's fingers.

"He's ready," Amanda says, looking into Ben's face. He feels flushed and wild, but he's not sure about ready. She sees his doubt and kisses him softly. "I'm sure," she says, and to Martin, "Just go slowly."

"Of course—" Martin huffs, easing his fingers out. "I'm a considerate goddamn lover, Amanda. I'm not just going to shove in. Fuck's sake."

She laughs and curls her legs up so that her knees rest on either side of Benedict's ribs. He's still moving slowly inside her, but she brings him gently to a halt. He hides his face in her shoulder, inhaling the scent of her hair, and nods. "Go ahead," he mutters.

"Go ahead, he says," Amanda relays.

Martin takes a moment with another condom, and then the lube-wet head of his prick kisses against Benedict's arsehole. Ben feels stretched and empty and hungry for it, deep in his gut. He spreads his knees a little more, and Martin presses in.

It hurts at first, his body uncertain about the intrusion, though Martin's cock is not any wider than his three fingers. Amanda clenches around him, petting his hair, and his body comes to terms with the idea. Martin sinks deep, slowly, until his hips are pressed against Benedict's backside, and Ben can feel the soft scratch of his pubic hair. Martin sighs, stroking a hand up Ben's spine, and says, "Fucking hell, Ben."

"No, you," Benedict mumbles. Amanda laughs. She wraps her arms around Benedict and pats Martin's hand. Ben lifts himself up off his elbows and looks down into her beaming face. Martin leans down to kiss his shoulder. His heart is racing, his body overstimulated, and he's drenched with sweat and lube, but every bit of it feels right. He wriggles his hips, feeling cheeky, and both of them moan, delighted. Martin gets a grip on Benedict's shoulder and eases a little deeper, making Ben's back arch. It pushes him into Amanda again, and she gasps.

"You're in charge," she says to Ben. "Anything you want, just say it."

"I want--" He has to stop and think about what his options even are. "I don't know."

"Martin can set the pace," she suggests. "And you can let him know if you want it faster or slower."

"What about you?" Benedict asks.

Amanda laughs, carding a hand through his hair. "I benefit either way," she says. "Two of the most gorgeous men in England on top of me? I really can't lose."

Martin gives his shoulder a squeeze and begins to rock his hips slowly. His girth tugs at Ben's hole and the tip of his prick just nudges Ben's prostate as he moves. At the same time, Amanda's cunt squeezes warm and snug around him. He's surrounded by sensation; by these two amazing, insane people who seem to know everything that makes him tick.

"Pull his hair," Martin murmurs. Amanda slides her fingers into Ben's hair on either side of his head and squeezes. Pleasure jolts down his spine, making his hips jerk, and she yelps and does it again.

"Fuck!" Benedict gasps.

"Kinky," she says, smiling. "Come on, darling. Faster."

Martin picks up the pace, and every thrust of his hips goes right through Ben into Amanda. They're using him for their pleasure and their amusement, he thinks, eyes fluttering shut. He can't help but join into the rhythm, pushing deeper into Amanda and rocking back to meet Martin. Amanda is clenching around him. She lets go of his hair to slip her hands between their bodies, one on her breast and the other between her thighs. She starts to rub herself, pinching her own nipple and working her clit, and her face is flushing with the effort.

"Fuck me," she orders Benedict, spreading her legs wide. Behind him, he can feel Martin grab one of her ankles. "Martin, stop moving; you're distracting him."

Martin goes still at once, halfway inside Ben, and Ben can feel the effort it took him. It was calculated, too; he pulls halfway out of Amanda at once, driving himself back on Martin's cock, and then forward again, dragging his arse off and pushing his prick deep.

He's not going to be able to keep this up. Already he just wants to squirm himself into an early grave, writhing on Martin's prick and fucking Amanda's cunt. Her fingers are working furiously against his pubic bone, her pussy squeezing down on him as she approaches her peak.

"Bite her," Martin says. "Suck her nipples. Make her come again."

She whines, tossing her head, and Ben manages to get his weight on one hand to cup her breast, bring it towards his mouth. He takes her tight nipple between his lips and nibbles it, sucking and licking as she moans. He feels her back arch and her vagina clench, and then a hot gush of fluid rushes down the fronts of his legs as she comes.

"Oh, God!" she cries. "Oh, fuck, Benedict! Fuck, fuck!"

Martin shoves his hips forward several times, which almost makes Benedict fall. He scrambles for purchase on the bed; Amanda is still writhing under him, cursing and spasming.

Finally she pulls her hand away from her clit and says, "Stop, stop, that's enough."

At once, Martin grabs Ben's hips in both hands and pulls him backwards. His cock comes out of Amanda with a wet squelch, still rigid and throbbing. She collapses back onto the pillows, breathing hard. 

"Oh, fuck," Martin mutters, his hands roaming over Ben's hips. "She squirted all over you. Lucky boy."

Ben could probably die right now and feel like he'd achieved everything important there was to achieve in the world. Screw a second series of _Sherlock_ , Amanda Abbington has ejaculated on him and Martin Freeman is inside him to the root.

Amanda giggles and sighs deeply, pushing her clean hand through Ben's hair. With the other she eases the condom off his prick and puts it aside. "I'm tapped out, boys," she says. "Martin, you'll have to take it from here."

"A pleasure," Martin says, kissing the back of Ben's shoulder.

Amanda pulls Ben’s face down for a kiss. Her legs fall from around his waist and his cock brushes her curly pubic hair. She shivers and murmurs, dipping her tongue into his mouth. Martin starts to move again, rocking his cock in and out, rubbing all of Ben's most sensitive nerves. Ben can feel the sweat on Martin's palms where Martin grips him. Pleasure ripples up his spine with every thrust, and his cock is dripping on Amanda's belly. He wants to rub off on her; is that rude?

She breaks the kiss to nibble on his jaw instead, and reaches for the discarded lube. She slicks her hand and gets it between them, solving his conundrum by curling her fingers around his aching prick. He moans, thrusting sharply into the cup of her hand.

"Easy," Martin says, following him with a thrust of his own.

Ben breathes, "Christ," into Amanda's ear. She laughs.

Martin swivels his hips, grinding his cock deeper into Ben's arse and changing the simple in-and-out to a rolling, rotating rhythm that sucks the breath right out of him. He's never been fucked like this. It's hard to imagine ever wanting anything else ever again. Amanda, holding him up, is soft tits and warm breath, big green eyes. Martin, behind him, is only firm hands and a hard prick, except that Ben can hear Martin muttering curses as he fucks. His hands wander, caressing the length and breadth of Benedict's back, gripping his shoulder for a moment and then his ribs the next. Ben reaches back for a grip on Martin's thigh, leaning heavy on Amanda, but she doesn't complain. Martin spreads his legs, thighs flexing, and the angle change makes Ben see stars.

"He's close," Amanda reports. "God, Martin; you should do this from the front, next time. What a face."

"Am I missing out?" Martin asks, his voice low and rough.

"Honestly, I doubt it," she says, "being bollocks-deep in him."

Ben giggles, out of breath, and clings tighter to both of them. He is more than ready to come. Martin's thrusts shove him into Amanda's slick grip, but she's not moving her hand at all to really jerk him off, just give him a warm place to rock. He's going to have to ask for it, he realises. They like hearing him beg.

"Amanda," he starts. His voice sounds like it has been dragged over gravel.

She grins. "Yes, handsome?"

"Can you--"

She raises her eyebrows, encouraging. Behind him, Martin is quiet but not still. Benedict feels like there's a live wire running through him, making his nerves tingle and spark.

"Get me off," he manages. "God, please."

Amanda rewards him with a deep kiss and tightens her grip, sliding it up and down the length of his prick. At once he is on the edge of the precipice. He groans, trembling all over, and feels his cock stiffen. His bollocks tighten and Martin says, "Shit, oh, shit," in his ear as his body clenches on the verge of orgasm. Then the wave crests and he cries out, heat rushing through his veins. He shudders and spurts all over Amanda's belly, squeezing down on Martin and fisting his hands in the sheets. The pleasure blinds him, and he can hear himself grunting helplessly, shaking apart between them.

He feels Martin's grip go tight and hears Martin say, "Fuck yes, Ben," as he reaches his own peak. Benedict wishes he could feel the hot pulse of Martin's come, but the barrier is there for a reason. Martin rocks his hips hard against Ben's arse and bends forward over Ben's back, resting his forehead between Ben's shoulder blades. He lets out a long sigh, his breath cool on Benedict's overheated skin, and Ben lets his shaking arms collapse.

Amanda huffs in protest, trapped beneath them both. Benedict gathers his strength to push off again, but Martin does it for him, hauling him sideways onto the other side of the bed. Her leg is trapped for a moment and they have to untangle themselves; in the scuffle Martin slips out of Ben's body and Ben groans at the loss. He doesn't want to be separated from them, even now.

Martin shushes him, kisses his neck, and rolls away to deal with the condom. Amanda likewise departs, padding into the loo to bring back a wet hand towel. She wipes her own hands off, and her stomach, and hands it off to Ben.

He has lube everywhere: on his hands, on his belly, in his pubic hair, on his cock and bollocks, up and down the crack of his arse, _in_ his arse. When he gives the towel back, blushing, she chucks it into the laundry and climbs back onto the bed with him, pulling the duvet down as she goes.

"Come on," she murmurs, urging him into the middle of the bed. They rearrange the pillows and Martin comes back, wiped clean as well and smelling of soap. The smell is familiar and Benedict turns, seeking it out.

Martin climbs in on his other side and gathers him into his arms. Over his shoulder, Ben can feel Martin and Amanda link hands. She cuddles up behind him, her breasts against his back, her knees in the crook of his knees.

"All right?" Martin asks, looking into Benedict's face. He smooths Ben's hair away from his face and traces his hairline gently. Benedict nods. Martin tips his chin up and kisses Ben slowly, tasting him. Amanda half-rolls away to turn out the light, plunging the room into darkness.

"Yeah," Benedict finally answers, when Martin releases him. "Won't your kids think it's weird that I'm… here…?"

Amanda laughs softly. "I don't think they'll notice," she says. "You're around so much anyway."

"But not for breakfast, usually," Benedict protests.

Martin hushes him and rests his hand on Benedict's chest, below his collarbones. "We'll worry about it tomorrow," he says, already sounding half-asleep.

"Okay," Benedict whispers.

In the morning the kids hardly blink, and are climbing into his lap for help eating their waffles. Martin and Amanda share the kitchen, bumping into each other warmly, teasing one another as Benedict watches. They linger over breakfast, ignoring the outside world, until finally Benedict's phone buzzes with a reminder.

"I should go," he says. His walk of shame is going to be epic; he's wearing Martin's pajamas now and he only has his suit to change back into. His driver is going to know what he's been up to. Jesus, Martin _and_ Amanda?

Martin comes into the bedroom as he's getting dressed and curls his arms around Benedict's waist from behind, nuzzling his face into Ben's shoulder.

"We should do it again sometime," he mumbles.

"Er," Ben says. His fingers are still on his shirt buttons.

"If you want. Amanda and I-- we had a good time."

Ben nods and risks sliding his hands down over Martin's. He feels Martin smile. "Me too," he says.

"Good," Martin says. He moves around to Ben's front and peers up at him, his chest against Ben's. His embrace is snug and comfortable. "You okay?'

Ben thinks about it for a moment. He doesn't want to leave. He'd like to go to bed with them again tonight, and tomorrow night, and maybe the night after that. He slept better nestled between them than he has in ages. He's sore in all the right places. But he has a meeting to make, and his next projects to line up, and they will always come back to _Sherlock._

"Yeah," he says, smiling and leaning down to kiss Martin's pink mouth. "I'm good."

 


End file.
